


Here

by Sing



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: #IchabbieSpring, F/M, Love, Romance., backseat, inspired by real life events, may - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 15:39:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: It's spring and it's Ichabbie so let there be love.





	Here

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sleepy Hollow ( Praise be)

It's warm, it's sun, it's green and bright. First dress of the season, fluttery white halter dress, skimming just at her knees. His hair, freshly cut, wispy, golden and brown and the etchings of beard that frame his mouth. An empty lot. A back seat. The sun is still high in the afternoon sky above them. 

She slides onto his lap, straddling him. He watches her adoringly, brushes errant curls from her face. Murmurs "You are so beautiful,"

A smile in return, shy, sweet, he does this to her, he always does this to her, makes her feel so precious with such simple, simple mundane words. She caresses his face. "I love you, Crane."

His smile is always so eager and bright, eyes twinkling back blue. "I love you, Grace, Abigail Mills."

Caressing his cheek, she leans in. 

Soft, gentle lips touch, first. Again, and again. Slow. 

All the time in world slow. Lingering, before she glides her tongue along his lower lip, gently sucking it between her own. He lets out a moan. His hands tighten on her waist. She glides a hand through his hair as she sucks a little harder before pulling away, biting him playfully. He chases after her, and she lets herself be caught.

She's not going anywhere. She doesn't want to run. Framing his face with both hands she claims his lips once more, slant, part, open, tongues meet. Languorously, seductive in how much they take their time. 

A moan escapes her, a pleased hum in the back of her throat, as he sucks on her tongue. She loves when he does that. He knows she loves when he does that. He pulls harder for a second before letting her go. She breaks for air a minute, marking a trail around his face. He strokes her back and breathes heavily with anticipation as she kisses her way around. Jaw, eyelid, pauses to meander near his ear. Takes the lobe gently in her teeth before giving it a light tug. His hands roam her body, gently caresses becoming more firm with each press, running over  her backside and squeezing. She pushes back a little into his eager hands, while she turns her head to have access to his neck.

He smells intoxicating. Musk, a little sweat, she laps at the column of his throat; sweet and a little salty. Being with him always makes her reckless, impossibly young. She latches on, plush lips suctioning on his pale skin while her tongue draws little circles there. He gasps and bucks beneath her and she rolls her hips, needy and eager to meet him. 

She continues the long sojourn back to his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips and darting away playfully when he pretends to bite she goes back in, and with her tongue licks all along his lips, around before letting them slip inside his mouth and the kiss takes a more determined passionate turn as their mouths open wider, tongues push and twirl and glide along one another. He pays her back for earlier, catching her soft bottom lip in his teeth and tugging it, just enough for a little sting. She pushes herself against him begins to rock her hips and feels him pressing into her. His fingers dig into her backside and he lets fly a slap. 

She feels it thrum all the way down into her core, air leaves her lungs in a rush as she grasps his collar and growls in his ear. "Harder,"

Another one. 

"Yes" she grunts.

"More? Abbie?" he entreats, voice gruff. She nods as she kisses him again hand in his hair tugging his head back as she plunders him aggressively. He lets her have it and then grips her hips. Her movements are desperate, harried, with both hands on her bottom, underneath her dress, he helps her rock into a rhythm but she huffs in frustration. 

"I need you," she whimpers. "Ichabod,"

"I have you Treasure," 

She lifts herself just long enough for him to undo his belt, slide down his boxers. He watches her there, her face covered with a fine sheen of sweat and lips kiss swollen, before he reaches up beneath her dress. 

"I'll buy you a new pair," he promises, pushing his thumbs through the sides of the flimsy frilly lacy thing and discarding it quickly before he glides a finger through her slick wet heat. 

She trembles even as she taunts him. "Those were expensive,"

"I'll buy you several," he coaxes as he pushes in. She gasps and bites her bottom lip, keening as he probes deeper. When he withdraws he sucks his finger clean and then reaches up to untie the halter, letting the top flutter down so he can admire her in full. She's still holding herself up above him, glancing down at the impressive, hard length, wanting it, needing it, but then his hands are on her breasts, gently kneading them before taking a nipple into his mouth.

"Crane," she rasps, her head falling forward, fingers still grasping in his hair.

"I've got you Abigail," he growls as he releases her. "Ready?"

She nods silently.

Joined.

A second, a moment, to acclimate. To savour the depth of closeness. The sun beating down through the car windows. The sweat on skin, the flushed faces.

The completeness of it.

Of being, Here.

Lips collide again, mild, before turning toward a raging heat as she begins to ride. They break apart for air as he thrusts up, then pulls her back down, gathering speed, friction, hitting harder, deeper, in that place inside until she is spiralling, hurtling down from the impossible high and he goes down with her, panting they collapse in each others arms.  

* * *

 

 

They lay sidelong in the backseat.

Him propped up, leaning over her. 

Her, tucked into the crook of his arm. 

Turned towards each other. 

She traces his face, and he stares into her eyes, how the sunlight plays on her features. For a minute she lets her eyes close and inhales, breathes, concentrates on being Here with him. It's all that matters, right now. 

"Abbie, you, you are so beautiful, in sunlight." 

Her eyes wink open and she smiles up at him, reaches up to touch her lips softly on his. 

His hand smooths out the skirt of her dress over her backside, even though seconds later it creeps back up and rests there on a cheek, gently caressing. 

"I love you, Grace Abigail Mills, more than words, more than a thousand poets or troubadours could proclaim. More deeply, and fiercely, than any fire that rages. More surely, and constantly, than the change of seasons. And more loyally, than any servant to Crown, or deity on this earth. I am yours, mind, heart, body, soul."

She presses close, nuzzling against him. "You should have saved those for the day of, they'd have made beautiful vows."

He chuckles and kisses her hair. "I need to practice in order to be worthy of you."

"Ichabod Crane, there is no man in this universe, that I would rather pledge my life to, in sickness and in health, till do us part. You are always worthy. I love you."

They stay there, stolen in the unexpected heat of spring.

Cloistered away in the empty lot, half dressed, passionately sullied. 

Tomorrow there will be work, and wedding planning and everyday. 

But today. 

They are,

Here. 

 


End file.
